Breaking the News
by evitamockingbird
Summary: Mr. Carson receives the news of Lady Sybil's death and he has to inform the staff. One-shot brought on by a plot bunny from chelsie-carson on Tumblr.


**This is fic was brought on by a plot bunny from chelsie-carson on Tumblr: _How did Carson find out about Lady Sybil's death? Who told him? How did he break the news to Mrs. Hughes? We halfway know what happened when the staff learned of the tragic event, but let's try to fill in the blanks!_**

Mr. Carson stood in the corridor outside Lady Sybil's room. The hall boy who had heard the bell ring had shaken him awake from pleasant dreams and he was now facing a nightmare. In the morning there would be many telephone calls to make, but what he must do now would be the most difficult part of his duty. The staff must be informed of Lady Sybil's death. He would gather them together downstairs, so he wouldn't have to say it more than once. He headed toward his room, but after a moment's hesitation, he turned and went instead to the women's quarters.

He entered the housekeeper's room without knocking. She was sleeping peacefully and he hated to wake her, but he couldn't do this without her. There wasn't much he could ever do without her. He sat down on the chair by her bed, wondering how he would find the words. He knew he shouldn't be here at all. He ought to have roused the men himself and then knocked on the door separating the men from the women. He would have to say it twice now, once to her and once to the staff. But he didn't know if he could face the staff at all without her beside him.

He had been silent, had barely moved, but Mrs. Hughes woke up, somehow sensing that she wasn't alone. She was surprised to find him in her room, but she didn't question his presence. Something must be very wrong. If his sudden appearance in her bedroom hadn't told her that, one look at his face would have shown her that something terrible had happened. She got out of bed, pulled on her dressing gown, and stepped into her slippers.

"Mr. Carson, what is it? What's happened?"

"Lady Sybil. She's gone."

Mrs. Hughes gasped and sat down on the edge of her bed. "Oh my God."

"I can't believe it," he said. "The child was born and all was well and then... Lady Mary told me that the whole family... watched her die. Both of the doctors were there, but there was nothing they could do to save her."

"Oh my God," she said again and, shock giving way to grief, she began to cry. "And now the wee one in the nursery will never know her sweet mother." She pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her dressing gown and covered her face, trying to compose herself.

Mr. Carson watched her silently. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn't know how. If he had known she would not object, he would have wrapped his arms around her and held her against his chest, gently rubbing her back, kissing her hair, telling her to shed as many tears on his pajamas as she liked. But he did not know how she would feel about such a thing. Touching her was out of the question, but all of the appropriate and proper expressions of comfort seemed insufficient. Losing Lady Sybil was a grief so much larger than any words.

Mrs. Hughes had calmed a bit by now, and she let her hands fall from her face. "I suppose you should go wake the men, Mr. Carson, and I'll see to getting the women downstairs," she said.

"Yes," he answered and followed her out the door.

#####

A few minutes later the staff were gathered in the servants' hall. The room was silent as they waited for Mr. Carson to speak. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. He could not find the words, could not speak. He glanced helplessly at Mrs. Hughes, who stood beside him, and she came to his aid.

"What Mr. Carson means to say is that his lordship asked that we give you this news immediately," she began, speaking very softly. "Lady Sybil became ill during the night and a short while ago... she died."

The shock was visible on all of their faces. Some started crying at once, some looked around at one another, some just stared in disbelief. With the passing seconds, the words began to sink in, and the faces of the butler and housekeeper convinced each person that this tragedy was real and not just a bad dream.

Mr. Carson found his voice enough to tell them there wasn't anything they needed to do, but no one was quite ready to go to bed. Some of the servants sat down, some wandered into the passage. They comforted each other. Mrs. Hughes held Daisy as she wept, and then performed the same office for a number of the younger staff.

Mr. Carson, however, walked alone to his pantry. That was where Mrs. Hughes found him, a quarter of an hour later, when most of the staff had gone back to bed. She wiped her eyes as she approached him.

"Are you all right, Mr. Carson?" she asked him gently.

"I knew her all her life, you see," he answered. "I've known her since she was born."

Mrs. Hughes nodded and, after hesitating for a few seconds, she reached out and took his hand. He placed his free hand over hers, wrapping his fingers around it. They stood together like this for several minutes without speaking, tears sliding down their faces. Gradually all the others went to bed and there was silence downstairs.

Mr. Carson did not want to move, so he spoke instead, keeping hold of her hand. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes," he said. "For taking over back there. I just couldn't..."

"You don't need to explain, Mr. Carson," she said softly. "I know."

"Thank you," he answered, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"I think it's time we said good night."

"Yes, in just a few hours it will be time to wake up again." He looked down at their joined hands for a moment before reluctantly letting go. They left his pantry, turned out the lights, and went upstairs. When they reached the point where their paths diverged, they quietly bade one another good night and separated. She headed immediately to the women's quarters, but he stood and watched her until she was out of sight before turning and going back to his own room.

He could not forget the grief he felt for the loss of Lady Sybil, but as he shed his slippers and dressing gown and slid into his bed, his mind kept returning to the one he knew he really could not do without. He had wanted to comfort her when he broke the news to her and she cried, but he couldn't. Instead _she_ had sought _him_ out and comforted him when he retreated from the crowd. Her hand on his had not kept him from weeping, but it had told him that he did not need to grieve alone, that she would be weeping beside him, _with_ him. Just as she'd been beside him when it was time to speak to the staff and he could not make his throat or his mouth work. In the end, he'd only had to say it once. She had carried part of his burden. She always had, if he really thought about it. In the past he might have judged himself harshly for failing at his duty of making the dreadful announcement, but now he thought perhaps he had done the wisest thing he could have done. He had gone for help to the one person who would always catch him when he stumbled, and who filled in the spaces he left blank. No, he could not live without her. Not now, not ever.

_THE END._


End file.
